Atrocities Wrapped in Glory

A prevalent belief at that time was that they were doing good by bringing civilisation to the natives. This was expressed by John Ruskin who wrote in 1870 “[England as a] true daughter of the Sun [must] guide the human arts, and gather the divine knowledge of distant nations, transformed from savageness to manhood, and redeemed from despairing into peace”. British rule was thought to be a force for civilisation, a glorious and moral right.

The liberal-minded British imperialists tried to wrap up their practice of dominion with a layer of complexity. They said it was Britain and other nations locked in an imperial embrace of long-standing subtlety that it was no longer possible for them to know whether they hated or loved one another, what it was that held them together, thus confusing the image of their separate destinies.

In contrast, the hard-headed imperialists were keen to focus on the benefit of using native labour and gaining natural resources. Sometimes there were sexual connections between individuals on opposite sides, the colonisers and the colonised, engaging in intimate relationships. This is very well described in all its complexity in The Singing Grass by Doris Lessing.

The original inhabitants of the lands which had been colonised, who were fighting for their independence, had a much more straightforward view – they wanted their lands and their freedom back.

This publication was inspired by my purchase of two large and wonderfully illustrated collections of The Windsor Magazine published in 1897 and 1903. I was fascinated by the sheer political incorrectness of the views expressed. Winston Churchill said that we must look back to understand the present and perhaps an insight into the thinking of colonial times will help us to understand some of the more recent twists and turns in history.

Having lived through the rule of Trump, and also the United Kingdom’s tortuously slow and inept crawl toward the realisation of Brexit I found that these articles gave me some clues to understand what was happening. The rise and celebration of patriotism and nationalism has engulfed not only Britain, but sections of the American population, and also European countries. Xenophobic nationalist movements such as that of Marine Le Pen in France or Geert Wilders in the Netherlands celebrated the election of Trump. Living in England at that time, I came across a group of singularly

uneducated and arrogant people who thought Trump was brilliant and who were so happy that Brexit was going to happen. My husband and I were Australians working in education in the north of England at the time and he was

taunted at work with the cry that ‘we’re going to get the Empire back’ and ‘we’ll go into India and Australia and they’ll have to pay us tax and we’ll be on top again.’ It might have been insulting if such views were not so patently ridiculous. Obviously, the national unconscious in Jungian terms, or more importantly, the conscious still harboured icons and symbols regarding world superiority and dominance. An examination of the colonial mentality when Britain really was ‘on top’ makes it possible to understand the roots of such beliefs.

The past colonial powers are now locked in different forms of power-seeking. In 2023, one year after Russia entered the Ukraine on its special military operation there is tremendous anti-French feeling in its former African colonies. The mercenaries in the Wagner Group, who are a Russian para-military force, are fighting against the French military who remain in Africa. The lines of power shift but still there is the struggle for supremacy.

The texts in this volume celebrate glamorous imperial adventure. One can discern certain themes and tropes that thread through such imperialist writing; the romance of far-flung and unknown spaces, seeking one’s fortune, realms of limitless possibilities, eccentric and interesting humans, and sexual behaviour that goes beyond conventional standards.

Post-colonial literature is now a subject studied at A-level in the United Kingdom, and also at tertiary level and this book may be useful as preliminary reading to get an idea of the way in which things were during the colonial period. Post-colonial literature arose in opposition to imperialism. The colonial and the post-colonial perspectives focus the reader’s attention on power relations. The colonial articles in this volume have the voice of those who believed they were superior. Post-colonial writing seeks to give a voice to those who are marginalised and subordinate in the power hierarchy.

I searched second-hand bookshops for other books that were more than a hundred-years old. I wanted to immerse myself in the writing of the time that glorified the idea of empire and imperialism. I found Young England: An illustrated magazine for boys. It was the thirty-fourth annual volume printed in 1912-1913 by Pilgrim Press.

This was a more readable and entertaining version of both history, biography and fiction that informed the young boys who were about to live through the First World War. The joy and simplicity of their thinking is refreshing and horrifying at the same time. From the welter of articles including “Hobbies for Boys: Rabbit-Keeping” by J. K. Hervey, gardening advice by Campbell Scott in articles entitled ‘My Little Bit of Garden’, ‘Stamps of the British Empire’ by Lllewellyn H. Vicars, sports articles such as “How to Make a Good Forward” by R. O. Lagden of Oxford University and English International Rugby Football, and an Eskimo Adventure ‘On the Trail of a Polar Bear’, I have chosen some of the articles which grabbed my attention, including a fascinating story about crocodile worshippers deep in the Congo. Working on the idea that the celebration of dominion begins in the youthful imagination, these articles were the food for glorious visions of thoses who were to inherit the Empire.

The beginning of the British Empire is traced back to 1660, as stated in the article ‘The Colonial Office’ by Frederick Dolman: “Professor Seeley declared, in “The Expansion of England,” that John Bull had acquired a Colonial Empire in a fit of absent-mindedness. The story of the Colonial Office illustrates the actual truth of his remark, although it may be said to begin with so remote a date as July 4, 1660. On that date Charles II., then engaged in reorganising the Government on monarchical lines, directed that certain members of his Council should sit

as a committee every Monday and Thursday afternoon at three o’clock to receive petitions and memorials from American islands and colonies, reporting their proceedings to the Privy Council as a whole. This body, which was known as the Committee on Foreign Plantations, was an ancestor of the Colonial Office as it was at that time.

When describing the British Empire there is a constant use of the possessive pronoun ‘ours’ which instils a feeling of collective ownership. A narrative of how the Empire was extended and established is presented: “Some of the best parts of it seem to have been acquired with no trouble at all—“in a fit of absence of mind,” as Professor Seeley used to say—some have become ours, as it were, by accident, while others have been gained and kept by “tremendous exertions and much waste of blood and treasure.” Thus, the practices rape and pillage are softened with the term ‘much waste of blood and treasure.’

The first story in this collection is entitled “A Young Australian Hero,” and is published in Young England for a readership of boys. As an Australian, I was particularly outraged and shocked by the representation of Aboriginals, which are described in abhorrent terms. Here are some of the phrases that I object to, “the natives who, at first, stood greatly in awe of the white man had grown bolder, and either by tiresome begging or impudent stealing had become quite a nuisance”; and referring to the natives being given a ham to eat “[t]he meat was greedily pounced upon and torn to pieces, and back came the evil-looking crowd asking for more”; and referring to one of the Aboriginals, “his ugly face daubed with white paint”.

I was living in Australia at the time that the Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd, made his very moving and long-awaited ‘sorry’ speech and I watched Rabbit Proof Fence and

understood the injustices enacted upon the ‘Stolen Generations’. I have to say that the Aboriginals in Australia were treated appallingly and massacred mercilessly in large numbers as their land was stolen. I have included this piece of dreadful fiction as an artefact of the era, so that one may understand some of the atrocities practised by the imperialists.

The next story in this collection, “The Crocodile Worshippers” does not arouse such outrage and is an entertaining read. It presents the magic of faraway places and inspires young readers with adventures of derry-doing.

The third story “The Boiling Pool” is aimed at slightly younger readers and is full of adventure and fun, but heavily laced with moral superiority. This story not only characterises the natives as a “slush-heap” of “thieves, rebels, traitors, and murderers” but describes such natives “are as cunning and fearless as wild beasts, for this was German territory before the war, and the German colonist usually turns his natives into animals.” This is an interesting illustration of the mentality of the competing European colonists.

The antagonist, a man called Yharo is described in a style that is typical of the way white people viewed black men, “Something was moving stealthily, half bent, by the edge of the Boiling Pool. For an instant Chilcot thought, bewilderedly, of a vast gorilla. Then he saw that it was a human being. It stood out for a moment in a glinting patch of moonlight, and, clear as on a cinema screen, they saw the black, shining body, dripping perspiration, the giant limbs, and herculean shoulders. More than all, they saw the great brutal head, with its ape-like face, thick, twisted lips, and white eyes.”

The “thieves, rebels, traitors and murderers” are kept imprisoned on the Island of Devils. Here is a common trope of the times that black people were pagan and satanic, whereas white people were considered saintly, the perpetrators of Christianity.

The collection then moves on to non-fiction and I selected three articles in the Empire Series, accounts of how different countries were colonised. In the article about Jamaica, the author recounts how when the English entered Spanish Town they lost little time in beginning the work of plunder, but not much in the way of valuables rewarded their search. The traditions of hidden treasure which were long handed down among the English settlers had very small foundation. The text then goes on blithely to describe how parts of the town which were not wanted as quarters for the soldiers were burned, and the Protestant zeal may have had something to do with the vigour shown in pulling down the abbey and two churches, the bells of which, when melted, were usefully converted into shot. The actions of the British are described unapologetically, as if this is normal practice, which it was.

The conquest of Gibraltar describes the great Rock as a possession which Britain does well to guard, consecrated as it is by such acts of valour and endurance on the part of her sons in the days of her stormy past. Here they are referring to a massacre and slaughter – the glorification of violence

The next article is about David Livingstone, one of the most famous missionary explorers of Africa, which was known as ‘The Dark Continent’ in those days. He was

a committed Christian and a fearless explorer and held up as a hero of the times. He was a champion of the natives and spoke out not only against slavery, and also the cruelty practised towards the black people by the Boers and the Britons. Of all the characters described in these books the liberal-minded of us can appreciate Livingstone’s virtues.

This is followed by an article written by Stanley who is responsible for the very famous line, “Dr Livingstone, I presume.” Stanley started out in life as a baby abandoned by his mother, and never knowing his father, was described on his birth certificate as a bastard. He spent some of his

childhood in the St. Asaph Union Workhouse for the Poor and was reportedly physically and sexually abused.

At the age of 18 in 1859 he emigrated to the United States and through his life he worked as a soldier, merchant sailor, journalist, explorer, and writer. Some of his famous achievements are claiming the Congo for the Belgian King Leopold II, and leading the Emin Pashia Relief Expedition to ‘rescue’ the Governor of Equatoria in southern Sudan. It was thought that Stanley was the inspiration for Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness hero. Stanley wrote a number of books and featured in Tim Jeal’s book, Explorers of the Nile: The Triumph and Tragedy of a Great Victorian Adventure (published by Yale University Press, 2011)

This article is about the activity of exploration and the direction for future efforts. It is written by Stanley a few years before his death. At no point does Stanley question the rightness of exploration. Undoubtedly the Victorian beliefs about Christianity and medieval chivalry underpin his idea of ‘discovering’ new lands.

In the first paragraph he clearly sets out for the reader his attitude, shared by many others of his time, towards ‘discovering’ and ‘mapping’ large geographical areas and in doing so claiming them in a spirit of over-riding patriotism for Britain enabling the expansion of the British Empire.

He describes Africa as a ‘long-neglected continent’ that is in need of opening up for ‘civilised enterprise’. The cultural assumptions underlying this attitude would not have been questioned at the time of writing and were addressed to readers who accepted these ideas at face value.

There was no recognition of the idea expressed by Malawi’s first President for Life, Dr Hastings Banda, that there “was nothing to discover, we were here all the time” (Hearts of Darkness: The European Exploration of Africa by Frank McLynn). The undeniable fact that Africans had long known the great lakes, rivers, plains, and mountains before any European so-called ‘explorer’ arrived on the scene obviously never occurred to these explorers from the Western world.

As pointed out by Tim Jeal in his book Explorers of the Nile: The Triumph and Tragedy of Great Victorian Adventure, very few Europeans gave any recognition to the information that they had obtained from Arab-Swahili slave traders, nor the native porters who carried the goods that were traded along the way, and also acted as interpreters, guards and guides.

In five paragraphs Stanley sums up the activity of European explorers in East Africa over fifty years. He writes that the area was “converted into civilised states and protectorates, became thickly dotted with Christian missions and fairly laid open to civilised enterprise.” Such activities were accepted as of benefit to all concerned and for the contemporary reader has a very different meaning to the readers at the time of publication.

The first explorers were almost child-like in their desire to go out and have adventures, to go beyond the bounds of stultifying English society, and discover for themselves a more interesting and exciting identity, to be free and adventurous and live life to the fullest facing daily dangers of death and illness. This could particularly be true of Stanley who wished to go beyond his childhood trauma of being labelled a bastard, bullied and abused in the workhouse and considered to be of low birth far down the scale of the English class system. Dr Livingstone also came from less than aristocratic beginnings. He had been a child factory worker in a Scottish textile mill, living in a single tenement room but with his loving parents and four brothers and sisters.

The next very detailed article is about the British struggles in Khartoum. Ward begins his article with recent history, referring to the debacle of the Siege of Khartoum, “[w]e got into disgrace over the Gordon affair. Our Government sent him to Khartoum to parley with brutal fanatics, and when he was in jeopardy delayed its efforts to save the hero’s life.”

There had been a rebellion by Madhists in Sudan which was under the control of Egypt, a de facto British protectorate. The Prime Minister, Gladstone, and War Secretary, Lord Hartington, did not wish to become involved and ordered the Egyptian government to evacuate Sudan. The former Governor-General of Sudan, General Charles Gordon was appointed to carry out this task. In opposition to Gladstone’s ideas, Gordon believed that the Madhdists’ rebellion had to be defeated. Two imperialists Sir Samuel Baker and Sir Garnet Wolseley agreed with Gordon and their opinions were published in The Times in January 1884.

When General Gordon arrived in Khartoum in February, 1884, instead of evacuating the garrisons he began to administer the city. He reduced the Egyptian colonial injustices, legalised slavery, got rid of torture instruments and established the remittance of taxes. The legalisation of slavery was contentious as it had previously been abolished and this caused controversy in Britain, but was popular in Sudan.

The Madhists were approaching Khartoum and General Gordon sought help from Turkey, Egypt and India but none was forthcoming. Gladstone also rejected the request for 200 British soldiers to strengthen the defenses of Khartoum. The British Government was still determined that evacuation was the right course. Gordon continued with his idea of defending Khartoum and as the Madhists closed in he ordered the strengthening of fortifications around the city.The Siege of

Khartoum began in April 1884. The Mahdi rejected offers of peace and refused to lift the siege. The British press and Queen Victoria were concerned about the plight of General Gordon, but Gladstone ordered him to return. Gordon refused claiming that he was honour-bound to defend the city. Eventually Gladstone agreed that an expedition led by Sir Garnet Wolesley be sent to Sudan and they arrived in

January, 1885. As they approached Khartoum 50,000 Madhists attacked the city wall and within a few hours the entire garrison was slaughtered and 4,000 of the town’s inhabitants were taken into slavery. General Gordon was killed. Any surviving British and Egyptian troops withdrew and Muhammad Ahmad was in control of the entire country and established a religious state with the enforcement of Sharia law.

Fourteen years later, in 1896 the Sudanese Madhist rebellion was extinguished by Kitchener’s troops and the Madhist War was over. The British press blamed Gordon’s death on Gladstone, who was rebuked in a telegram from Queen Victoria.

In this article Ward describes events from the perspective that was prevalent at the time, ‘We may well look back with pride upon our work of twenty years’. He is referring to the British colonising activities in Egypt and Sudan.

The article then describes his journey to Khartoum and all that he finds there. It is an interesting travelogue. Throughout the writing there is a pervasive flavour of paternalism and unquestioning belief in the benign and beneficial ‘civilising’ influence of the British, exemplified in these words; “Outside Gordon’s earthworks, which still encircle the city, there are a dozen native villages, each tribe preserving its primitive mode of life – the crafty Dinka, the loyal Jaalin, the fierce Shilook,

the truculent and cruel Baggara, living in contentment, unarmed and undergoing the gradual process of civilisation.” The stereotyping of each tribe is interesting and we could at least applaud the writer for differentiating between the groups of natives and not just putting them all into the same category.

There are countless examples of Ward’s celebration of all things British, for example “I trust this will encourage others to take an interest in Lord Kitchener’s noble effort to advance the poor neglected natives of this unfortunate land, which has been plunged in misery for thousands of years, and at last is to get its chance among nations under the protecting British flag.”

Civilisation is epitomised by teaching the natives to wash and thus be clean, and also allowing Christianity to return to the country; “Christianity has been utterly extinguished by persecution. Now, under the British flag, all are free to worship according to their own faith, as long as they observe the laws.”

The article “A Story of Empire” by James Milne, is about the colonisation of the Malay Peninsula and the way in which Sir Andrew Clarke achieved his objectives. He is quoted as saying “…Where it was possible I sought interviews with them and pointed out the effect of the evils from which the country was suffering. Their real interests were peace, trade, and the opening up of their country. In place of anarchy and irregular revenues, I held out the prospects of peace and plenty. I found them in cotton. I told them, if they would trust me, I would clothe them in silk. Their rule had resulted in failure; I offered them advisers who would restore order from chaos, without curtailing their sovereignty. They were willing to listen to reason, as the vast majority of persons, whether wearing silk hats or turbans, usually are.”

This method upholds the British empire-making as an activity of the highest ideals and practised with supreme morality, tact and understanding. It is not perhaps the way in which colonisation is viewed in present times.

“The other day,” remarked Sir Andrew Clarke, “I was talking of him (Sir Stanford Raffles) in a company well-informed on most subjects, and was disappointed to find that he was hardly known. Yes, I am afraid he has been neglected – at least, in the popular sense; but his gift of Singapore to England was a regal dowry.” It is interesting that Raffles is probably the best known of any bar in the world these days.

The article about the Colonial Office in London is a clever link between the far-flung continents of the British Empire and the domestic administration centre. It provides a concrete connection between the humdrum and mundane lives of the British living in Britain and the great Empire that was viewed as their heritage and patrimony.

The “Money Kings” is a series of five articles by W.T. Stead. It is remarkably prescient and even now, 120 years later, two institutions of the original Money Kings are still ruling the world of finance. At the turn of the century this article describes the way in which “the sceptre of the world is passing from the hands of emperors, monarchs, soldiers and politicians into those of the financier.” The prediction that “[m]oney is the coming king, and the American dollar will be the emperor of the world,” has certainly been true to date, and only now the power is tilting away from America to China as we move towards a multi-polar world.

There are various references to Jewish people that would probably not be particularly politically correct these days. For example, in No. V. he says of Baron Hirsch, ‘There is something magnificent in a bequest of £7,000,000 given by one of the richest of the sons of Israel, to improve the condition of his poorer compatriots.’

The accuracy of the ideas expressed in this article are surprising. It is written at a higher level of abstraction than that commonly used in contemporary commentaries with the

idea that “[n]ow avarice and covetousness have disappeared from the catalogue of deadly sins. Disguised as thrift and business capacity, they have become the idols of the market-place, and in our democratic age we are witnessing the evolution of a triumphant plutocracy which every day tends more and more to place itself under the absolute control of its supreme autocrat.” Although the notion of ‘democracy’ is frequently touted by the Western nations, particularly the United States, in reality plutocracy reigns in our present world.

THE END

A Young Australian Hero

Published in Young England, 1912-1913

Terrible stores are told by old residents in Australia of the cruelties perpetrated by the blacks (the aborigines) in the early days, before the white settlers had overrun the island continent. Nowadays it is rare to hear of any such outrages, and the blacks are rapidly decreasing in numbers.

Here is a story of those old days. A cattle farmer near Port Lincoln, in South Australia, had two sons—the elder aged sixteen and the younger aged eleven. The two boys greatly enjoyed the wild, free, unconventional life of the place, and often spent much of their time at a hut some miles away on the outskirts of the estate.

At the time of our story the natives who, at first, stood greatly in awe of the white man, had grown bolder, and either by tiresome begging or impudent stealing had become quite a nuisance.

One day the elder boy had to go off to the station for stores, and having assured himself that his brother did not in the least mind being left, and promising to be back as soon as possible, he rode away. Eleven-year-old Harry, left to himself, took his gun and went out to shoot something for dinner. Returning, he saw, to his annoyance but without much alarm, that a dozen blacks were crowding round the locked door of the hut. They all had spears or clubs, and one had a stolen red handkerchief wound around his head.

As the boy strode forward and entered the hut, the blacks came round him, clamouring for food. Seldom had he seen them so bold. He felt it would be best to propitiate them, and turning out the contents of the meat safe he laid a smoked ham on the verandah and withdrew.

The meat was greedily pounded upon and torn to pieces, and back came the evil-looking crowd asking for more.

Harry began to be alarmed—not so much, however, for his own safety as for the hut and its contents. He raised his gun and the blacks scuttled away. Quickly then he took down his father’s old sword from above the mantelpiece, propped it up in a handy place outside, locked the door, and took up his stand on the verandah.

The situation was one that might have daunted even a grown man, but the little chap did not flinch.

Presently the natives came creeping back, and two of the boldest—one of them with his ugly face daubed with white paint—suddenly hurled their spears. Their aim was only too true; one spearhead buried itself in his breast, the other in his leg. The boy reeled against the wall, but kept on his feet, and levelling his gun fired at the white-faced native. He fell, and the rest of the crowd fled.

Once again they came stealing back, but the boy’s resolute air and the threatening gun were too much for them, and they ran off and did not return.

Then Harry had leisure to think about his own plight. His wounds were paining him terribly, and the spearheads being barbed could not be easily withdrawn. Bravely he tried to saw off the long stems, but the pain it caused was too great. He even tried to burn and char them away, but it was of no use.

The sun went down, and still his brother had not returned. The night closed in, and weak with pain and loss of blood, the little chap sat listening for the sound of his brother’s coming—or the stealthy footsteps of the blacks!

At last Jim rode up, and with infinite concern and pity did what he could. He sawed off the spears, but he dared not remove the barbed heads, and then, catching a fresh horse, he conveyed the little sufferer eighteen miles and more to Port Lincoln. The doctor at the settlement did everything to save his life, but it was all of no avail, and murmuring bravely, “I’m not afraid to die,” the plucky little colonist quietly passed away.

THE END

The Crocodile Worshippers by L. B. Thoburn-Clark

Fictional story published in Young England, 1912-13

CHAPTER 1. THE DWARF HIPPOPOTAMUS

“Look here, Joe, it is past a joke. I’ve tried to pot that wretched lion three nights running, but I am hanged if it doesn’t escape me. Last night it sneaked in and carried off our last remaining goat.”

Joe Lorimer looked up from the buck he was skinning. “That’s bad. Though, if that goat was half as tough as the ancient specimen we had the day before yesterday, I am sorry for the lion. However, this buck will make splendid eating.”

“That is to say, if the lion doesn’t carry it off during the night.”

Lorimer laughed as he dressed the skin and stretched it on the platform to dry. “Set a snare, man. Fix up a rifle, then watch on the opposite side of the camp. You’re bound to get him.”

Sturvell sat down on a mass of rocks and ran his fingers through his crop of short, fair curls. He looked anxiously around at the oxen and the boys crouching beside the fire preparing their food.

“It’s all very well laughing, Lorimer. I believe you would laugh if the world turned upside down. The loss of that beastly goat means that we will have to turn back to get more, unless we can shoot enough bucks to keep up the supply of meat. Just, too, when we oughtn’t to lose an hour hunting for the pot. The boys are getting scared about something. What has frightened them is beyond my finding out. There’s really nothing worse than lions about here, and, so far, the brutes have not attacked us—only carried off our food. I hope the boys won’t take into their blooming heads to bolt. We’d be in a pretty fix then.”

“Hang it, man, wait till they run,” observed Lorimer, as he scientifically cut up the buck.

Sturvell sprang to his feet and paced impatiently up and down inside the hedge of thorns that protected the camp

“It’s no laughing matter, Lorimer. When I begged the governor to let me take charge of this expedition, he objected, and said I was too young. Sniffed at the idea of my being any use. I know I was a rotter in the office. He said I hadn’t the application necessary to carry out the work. He’d always sent his oldest and most experienced hunters and collectors out on these collecting affairs. It seemed to him that two fellows of twenty and twenty-one, even though you belonged to Africa,

could not possibly succeed, when older and more experienced hunters had failed to find the miniature hippopotamus that Baron von Sturmer wanted to add to his collection---”

“Well, we’re close on its heels,” interrupted Lorimer.

“Yes, we’ve evidence that such beasts exist, and we’ve seen one in the distance, but if the boys bolt and the lion raids the camp, what’s the use of having found the hippos? We shan’t be able to shoot the brutes and take their skins back to the governor. It’ll be all we can do to save or own skins.”

“I just feel I am cut out for this work, but if I fail I will have to go back to the office, and do cataloguing of ivory, rubber, and such things, when all the time I’m aching to be out after the tuskers. If I succeed, why, man, the governor’ll let me do anything I like. He thinks his reputation’s at stake. He prides himself on obtaining anything in the way of natural products that his clients require. His hunters have failed over a miniature hippo, and here am I just on the eve of success, when ruin stares me in the face.”

His fair, boyish face looked so supremely tragic that Lorimer sat down on the sand and laughed heartily. “Buck up, Jim, and return the stare; you might vanquish the ruin. The power of the human eye, you know. But I’ve finished cutting up this buck. We’ll have a grilled steak, and then do a stalk after the hippos. You can fix up a trap for your brute of a lion afterwards.”

Sturvell groaned, but, making the best of a bad job, he inspected the thorny barricade of the camp, while Lorimer and the boys saw to the storing of the buck’s meat.

An hour or two later they set off to secure the miniature hippo, which they had seen the evening before vanishing into a marshy tangle, about a mile from the camp.

They soon reached the spot and walked warily across the shallow stretches of black oozy mud, making their way between the scattered clumps of trees. They stepped cautiously, testing the mud carefully in case of holes. Several boys followed in their wake carrying the spare guns.

The forest grew more dense as they penetrated into its recesses. As last they came to a wide break in the trees. Water gleamed in the distance, while a broad growth of sedgy reeds stopped further progress. Something moved noisily among the rushes.

“I say,” whispered Joe Lorimer, “here’s his majesty. He’s coming---”

He crouched down behind a bush. Sturvell followed his example and anxiously examined his rife.

The hippo was not to be seen, though it still forced its way through the reeds, pausing every now and then to feed. Sturvell, holding his rifle ready, crept, softly for a few yards, and, kneeling behind some cover, waited eagerly for the approach of the hippo.

After what seemed an endless time the hippo pushed his head out from the reeds and peered about him. He looked suspiciously around, his small eyes taking in the surroundings with a quick, alert glance. Then, apparently satisfied, he stepped out into the open. Sturvell fired. Instantly the wounded animal charged furiously,

making straight for Sturvell. Fortunately Lorimer was ready, and, as the hippo rushed past him, he fired. The shot told. The hippo, with a deep snort of rage, lurched, fell on his head, rose, and pitched forward. He made a final effort to reach Sturvell, but failed, falling dead within a few feet of him.

“At last,” cried Sturvell, as he flung his hat in the air and cheered. “Ripping shot that, Joe. You bet I’d have taken to my heels if I hadn’t known you’d finish the brute.”

Lorimer leant on his rifle, and they both examined the strange beast that lay before them. Then, realising that the sun was almost setting, they hastily skinned the hippo, and, cutting off the head, hurried back to the camp with their prize.

It was nearly dark when they arrived. The threw the skin and head on the platform until they could clean and dress it in the morning.

Sturvell had quite recovered his spirits, and joked and yarned, in gay good humour. He had secured one trophy, to-morrow he would, with luck, secure another.

It was a dark, moonless night. The vivid circle of the firelight, playing upon the fences of thorns, accentuated the dense darkness beyond. From out of the blackness came the sudden roar of a lion.

“I’d forgotten the brute,” cried Sturvell, as he jumped up and ran for his rifle. There was a wild outcry from the boys, as they rushed to the fire, caught up the flaming brands, and waved them frantically to scare off the foe. A tawny form bounded with a savage roar into the enclosure. Before either Sturvell or Lorimer could fire, it had sprung upon the platform, seized the hippo’s skin and dashed off into the darkness.

Sturvell stood speechless for a few seconds, then he said slowly: “I am going to track that brute to his lair and have it out with him. We’ll find him in that kloof behind the camp. Are you coming?”

“Not now?”

“No, in the morning.”

“All right. I’m your man,” replied Lorimer, sorry for his chum’s disappointment in losing the skin.

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